


climb up above

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Series: Climb Up Above Your Precious Time [7]
Category: The Brothers Grimm (2005)
Genre: Angst, Atonement - Freeform, Blood Loss, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Coma, Confessions, Crisis of Faith, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Desperation, Exhaustion, Family, Fear of Abandonment, Fear of Rejection, Fever, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heart-to-Heart, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Mental Anguish, Nightmares, POV Multiple, Past Mind Control, Past Torture, Perspective Flip, Protectiveness, Recovery, Regret, Self-Esteem Issues, Serious Injuries, Sharing a Bed, Trope Bingo Round 16, Writing, h/c_bingo, temporary coma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: “You left for school and I thought... I thought for just a moment thatIwas the poison in your life.”
Series: Climb Up Above Your Precious Time [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085234
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11, Trope Bingo: Round Sixteen





	climb up above

**Author's Note:**

> Written for h/c_bingo Round 11's February Amnesty Mini-Challenge combining these four prompts: rejection, hypothermia, coma and WILD CARD (family). 
> 
> Also written for Trope Bingo Round 16 for the prompt Perspective Flip (this is two-fold: the pov does (briefly) shift between the two brothers in this piece; also, all other works in this series are strictly in Will's pov, save for this one that's mostly in Jake's pov).

[... _your precious time_ ]

* * *

There was, of course, a chance that Will might not wake.

After all that his brother had been through: tortured by the Mirror Queen, trapped for weeks in a torment of her own design, lured in by promises that Jake didn't know the half of because Will had never let him in, Jake had so much more left to ask.

And Will couldn’t hear any of it.

There was an ache, a feeling of being hollowed out, expanding and expanding until he could nearly topple over from the weightlessness of his body, the weightlessness of the world. He had never realized before how Will was the weight that kept him here, the force that kept him grounded and present and _alive._

There were so many times they disagreed, so many times they lashed out at one another, but that – Jake had come to accept – was not dysfunction or insanity but _family._ Just as Jake could not be cut out of Will, so rang true for the reverse.

It took a long time but Jacob had finally learned: Family, not magic, was the only thing he could depend on in this world.

It wasn't magic that had returned his brother to him – bloodless, carved open from the Mirror Queen's callous, cruel devotion – but _truth._ It wasn’t magic that had broken the wall between them, the wall _they_ built and maintained on guilt and grief and gross pride. The wall she could only laugh at and strive to reach to greater heights, but it was magic that had laid its foundations.

It wasn’t magic that had finally convinced the youngest Grimm of the weight his remaining sibling was carrying: the fear and the longing and the regret. No, all Jake had to do was actually _look_ and _listen_ and be _present_ , not lost in his head, lost in that _damn_ book.

_Their dear sister, stolen, taken into God’s merciful hands._

Those words weren’t magic but they were what had happened, the past that could never be changed, the hurt that could never be fully healed. He had written the opposite, over and over and over as if he honestly expected it to come true, for Lotte to come _back._ And all the while he was stubbornly, _blissfully_ unaware that each word was another carefully placed slice into his brother, robbing him of self-assurance and the strength he had needed to fight her.

The strength he needed so desperately now and couldn't seem to find.

Even though he had scratched out what had damned them, sealed the truth in Will’s _blood_ , Will’s pain, Will’s sacrifice all over again, a desperate apology...

_Stop sulking, Jacob Grimm. Will doesn't need this._

Regardless of that fathomless ache, Jake envied him the peace he exuded in sleep, his dreams untroubled by _her_ just as well as by his youngest brother's suffering. Indeed, there was no peace for Jacob while Will endlessly slumbered, sleep would not find him nor hunger nor any emotion save an ever-deepening well of grief.

He could not lose _Will_.

As soon as his brother had faded to near-nothingness in his arms, too much blood lost, too far gone to recognize Jake's anguish for the selfish plea it was – not selfless, not just a mere brotherly duty to save him but Jake simply refusing to live his life without Will, knowing it would be false, impossible, sheer insanity.

And Will, far too lost, lost like the poor children in his tales, a brother there to help but this time not offering, not _seeing_ , and Jake had been yanked back to reality, boneless and gasping and so, _so sorry_.

Will had been on the floor, no longer bleeding but so pale, close to lifeless, not responding to anything Jake did.

Jacob dissolved into tears again. He was clutching his brother’s limp body, still breathing, _barely_ breathing. He would cry louder and more messily if it would help, had already, would likely do so again. He wanted to shake his brother back into wakefulness, despite his terror that one touch would cause Will to crumple in on himself, too fragile, a ghost.

But even still, he couldn’t maintain the silence, couldn’t _not_ touch Will, caress his cheek, smooth careful fingers through his hair, adjust blankets several dozen times over, check a temperature that did not stray from a chilling cold every few moments for interminable hours.

_I've done all that I can, Will has to fight his way back now._

_He's not strong enough._ His voice, then hers, both equally terrible somehow.

_He's my brother. He's the strongest person I know. Stronger than me._

He started hiccuping, too many tears caught in his throat. If Will could see him now, he would smile and swat at him, tease him, remind him that men did not cry, did not show their emotions. God, how he _missed_ his brother, a fierce longing in his heart that was swiftly growing permanent.

Will was dying.

Jake wrote whenever it didn’t completely sicken him. Any resurrection of Lotte was crossed out several times and replaced with the truth, the truth he should have accepted long ago, the regret he held inside him like a bitter and constant stone, the one Will always held over his head.

He had always wondered... what if Will had believed, would the magic beans have worked then?

But that wasn’t the point. Sometimes magic just didn’t work, especially not without sacrifice. It had been Lotte’s time, a cold lesson for a hard life, a forever sorrow and yet he had done the same to Will, taken him for granted, tried so many times to flee from the life he had once foolishly believed a curse, to blame Will, to want more, to never confront what was at the heart of their lives, their shared loss.

And so now he wrote. He wrote about only the truth, no fabrications, no symbolic self-pity, no trying to shift the odds in either his or his brother’s favor. He wrote about his once endless resentment towards Will, how his brother cowed him at every opportunity, the taunting and the name-calling and the disbelief in every one of Jacob's dreams.

Yet he also spoke of love, how he had always looked to Will for guidance, sought to protect him at every opportunity, comfort him with a soft word when he was plagued by rejection or anger. Yet the surer and more puffed up Will became in his lifestyle, the more doubtful and saddened Jake became, eager to first dabble and then drown himself in drink, eager to cede to Will at every criticism.

All the while that one thought rolling over and over in his mind, having him swallow back another never ceasing wave of nausea.

_I've killed my brother. I've killed Lotte and I couldn't let it go and so I killed my brother and now... now I shall only ever be alone._

It was the same as being condemned to the stake, the bonds of grief and a lifetime of regret cutting into his wrists, tendrils of fire for his many sins licking his bare feet and the only thing that could save him was Will.

“If I’d known you'd be this lost without me, brother mine, I never would have let you go off to school.”

“Will!”

There was a joy that swelled up inside Jake’s chest, spreading swiftly through his limbs to the very tips of his fingers, jolting him with happiness like a series of searing shocks. It was like the sun was shining down only on the Brothers Grimm this day. He had felt it before with Will’s whispered tease just before he kissed Angelika, but this time was so much more powerful.

This time he had been convinced that he wouldn’t have a second chance to save Will.

Will sat up gingerly, would have fallen over again in exhaustion had Jake not kept him upright, tucking him back against haphazard pillows. He was bathed in sweat, limp locks sticking to his forehead, that chill Jake had lamented over dissipated and yet replaced with the onset of a fever he would now fret over.

“It’s been days, Will,” he answered before his ill sibling could ask. “And how I have missed my brother.”

“Your wailing called me back,” Will said with a curl of a smile, and Jake's heart was suddenly too big for his chest. Rather than fall to pieces in happiness, not desiring to frighten his brother, he opted for a sober countenance. He helped to maneuver the pillows better behind Will, trying to place less of a strain upon him. He rolled up sleeves to find wrists and the pale skin of his lower arms sweat-dampened, took a cloth out of the nearby basin that was now filled with tepid water and bathed the overheated areas gingerly, surprised every moment Will didn't pull away, which only deepened a concern simmering and nearly boiling over.

Will didn’t complain, however, but exuded gratefulness. He was clearly content to lie back and take in a breath that wasn’t labored, rest his hands on the sheets without worrying about having to staunch blood flow, and leave the worrying to his brother. If Jake was a cat he would purr in response, he would place his head in his brother's lap and not pull away for a good long while.

But with the memory of the Mirror Queen’s hold on his brother, both mentally and physically, he did not want to smother him. He would give him space if he wanted it, but as long as that fever was present, Jake reassured himself that he could reasonably fuss for a good bit longer.

“I can hear you thinking a mile a minute, brother.”

Jake tutted, untucking the sheets from the sides of the bed should Will want to rid himself of them. “No matter my own thoughts. You need to clear your mind and _relax_.”

“Mmm. Nurse’s orders, then?” Jake playfully pinched the underside of his brother's arm and Will puckered his lips into a pout. “No harming the patient.”

“No insulting the nurse. She’s far more delicate than she would have you believe.”

Will chuckled, then seemed to pale even further. “And I, clearly, having worried you for so long.”

Jake shushed him, pulling the sheets up to his dear brother’s neck when he felt the suddenly chilled skin underneath. “You’re ill. Save your words, they can wait.”

Will grasped his hand and Jake froze, eyes trained on his brother’s fever bright ones. “You finished our story, Jacob. A proper ending.”

Jake hadn’t realized Will had been conscious enough to hear it. He did not deserve to feel that dangerous thrumming of pride, and as he thought this it sifted into ashes on his tongue. “A proper ending will be you up on your feet, not alternating between deathly cold and unnerving heat.” Jake was at work again, cooling down Will’s arms with the washcloth, dabbing his flushed cheeks tenderly.

“Then write me so.”

He paused in his ministrations. “It is not so simple. I suppose I am still being punished by fate.” It was as if now when he wanted to write most, when he _must_ write, the words - those feelings of joy and wonder and excitement culminating in a strange, almost magical breed of purpose - had been _stolen_ from him. Their ending was hurried, haphazard at best. It was simple, too simple; then again, that maybe had been what was needed to break her evil spell.

“The both of us, brother. My blood feels as if it were on fire and I, like a candle burning at both ends.”

Jake frowned. “It is likely because you need some nourishment.” A bowl of broth was in his hands before his brother could blink, or rather, protest. He glanced down at Will’s hands nervously, having recalled that they had gripped his hand in a weak tremble. He didn’t know quite how steady his brother was, though doubted he could hold a bowl in one hand and wield a spoon in the other.

Will, obviously, would know his line of thinking without Jake having to agonize over it tremendously. Still, he stammered. “Can I... can I help, Will?”

His brother sighed and wilted against the already deflated pillows. “Alright, Jake. If there's nothing better you must do.”

Jake bit down on his tongue. He had no doubt in his mind that Will would recover quickly physically, but that wasn’t the only source of healing he shuddered to dwell on. Will had barely made it out alive and Jake knew the reasons for it now: fear of being left behind, the conviction that he had pushed his brother away from him forever; they were reasons Jake was familiar with but had never clung to in the extent that his brother had. This fear of magic was a palpable presence in Will’s life. It had tore the two of them apart twice already, both times inching close to a permanent, _physical_ separation. Jake knew he would have to address it sooner rather than later, and this burden seemed daunting.

He was already halfway through the bowl, lost in his troubles, when Will’s appetite seemed to wake. “Is there any more, brother?”

“Of course,” Jake replied and resumed, a small smile tugging at his lips at Will’s improvement.

As they worked their way through a second bowl, Jake pondered over what he had said, perhaps offhandedly but also perhaps an idea he believed in as well. It would do no good to ask him of it; he would tease or retract it and either way, Jake would receive no sure response.

If he could write his brother back to health then he would, even if it was an absurd notion, even if it indeed worked and yet only inch by inch.

He procured his journal and pen, ruminating for a few moments on how to go about it. Writing was more of a chore lately than an escape, perhaps because now his words held more weight, could work magic, after all. When Will’s hand twitched on the sheets, Jake was lost again, distracted, melancholic, longing for a return to how things were if Will could just be _his_ Will again. His head rose to find a playful smirk brightening his brother’s face. “Damsels in distress then?”

Jake indulged him with that very same smile and a nod. It would do no good for Will to know what he was up to, that the very damsel in distress was _he._

“You’re awfully despondent today, brother.”

_Today only? Try the many days I believed you had left me here alone, forever._

“Have you catapulted me with enough criticisms so that I may write us a way out of this mess?”

“Proceed. I shall provide a helpful ear if needed.”

Jake scoffed, though took advantage the moment Will closed his eyes to tuck another blanket around him. The abrupt fluctuations of his brother’s body were worrying him: the shift from cold to hot and then cold again. He himself could feel the room chilling by a good few degrees, and the sweat that had once trailed down Will’s temple was now poised, unmoving, over clammy skin.

“I’m here if you need anything,” Jake half-reminded, half-chided. “Anything at all,” he added awkwardly, wishing Will would just ask him for _something_ more: a drink, another blanket, any indication as to how he was feeling because Will never wanted to disclose _anything_ and it was _infuriating._ He could even ask for a girl to cozy up against him and Jake would surely provide it.

“Return to your dreams, Jacob,” Will reminded, no doubt sensing his agitation, and Jake did just that.

Except now, these dreams _would_ become reality.

* * *

He was lost in dark, _horrid_ dreams, dreams that needn’t be heightened by her because they were real, they had happened, memories he had shut away as a coward would for so many years, and they were assaulting him now.

“Leave then, if it suits you! But I shall not always be where you will find me, brother. You cannot write me into your _neat_ lines. I am no character in your frivolity, in those damn tales...” _you seem to like a great deal better than I, your brother, your own flesh and blood. There is no_ truth _there, only imaginings. There is no_ sense _there and yet you cannot see it._

There were more words lodged in Wilhelm’s throat, cruel words, _spiteful_ words, words he had given voice to in his head a thousand times. And likely would a thousand times more.

Jake was already gone. Only the shadow of him remained, a fleeting presence that seemed to fill up an entire room, enthusiasm turned into a bitter, _bitter_ rage. And the chances were that he had put that there after years and years, years of whittling Jake down until he had finally exploded, striving to take his chances elsewhere.

And good riddance.

_No, everything I have ever done for this family, in this world is for Jacob. What purpose is there left for me? How could he leave... believe that I do not want him here?_

But the questions would only have been spoken to empty air.

Jacob was gone.

And chances were, he wasn't planning on coming back.

* * *

A familiar, rasping cry rattled Jake out of his writing stupor. He grasped shaking, frigid, _frozen_ arms, rubbing his hands up and down vigorously to soothe and to provide warmth.

“Will! Will, it's alright.”

Much the same as the quite useless mantra he had used when he had realized what was going on, his brother’s immobile form trembling in exhaustion and thinly veiled horror, under her grip so entirely Jake feared ever getting him out.

Now Will could move, trembling hands clenching his hair between pale fingers, squeezing his eyes shut each time he opened them and saw Jake there. Dread loomed over the room like a bloated shadow, seeming to leech any warmth, any familiarity, any sense of hope whatsoever. It was as if Will was terrified of Jake himself, if he had not known better. No, Will was terrified that he wasn’t real.

And Jake wasn't sure whether to shake him, coax him or leave him be.

This wasn't like any of Will’s usual moods. Jake scarce knew how he would react anymore after all that had been inflicted upon them, upon Will especially. He wanted to balk or hide or run away like he always had, but he knew pretending that the world didn’t exist outside his head was no longer an option. There must be some strength within him that would mirror Will’s own.

“I thought... I thought you left.”

Pitiable, rejected, lost.

_And I have been lost without him._

All Jake knew was that he was _tired_ , so tired of all this. Setting his journal aside, he climbed into the bed, pressing close to chilled skin, fretting over a heart that was beating much too sluggishly now after that cry of alarm. “I’m not going to leave you.” _Again. God knows I left him once. And was this… was this the result?_ Jake shuddered and clasped his brother’s shoulder, firmer and surer until Will understood, released a breath, sank further back into pillows and even, partially, against him. “Do you remember, Will, after Lotte, when you could have left me for dead after what I did and yet you didn’t?”

Will, however, wasn’t hearing him. “You left for school and I thought... I thought for just a moment that _I_ was the poison in your life.”

He realized then that it wasn’t just about getting his brother well anymore; he had to get through to him, to the pain that ran so deep it could never be encapsulated into mere words. Will would never heal if he didn’t try.

“You were always the world to me, my big brother. I only ever wanted your approval, even with those beans, _especially_ with those beans. I thought... he'll finally trust me, believe in me, if I can only show him that there _is_ magic. Do for him what he’s always done for me, provide, keep us all from starvation. Even after Lotte died, I only wanted it more.”

He could tell Will was listening from the pained expression on his face, the trauma that Jake had played such a large part in causing. Will’s breathing had become strained, though his heart seemed to beat stronger as consciousness increasingly set in. He was more awake and aware than Jake could remember in a long time, through horrid _weeks_ where Will was under _her_ thumb before they'd managed to write her out of their lives altogether.

Jake prodded, _pleaded._ “This is something we can’t avoid any longer, it’s become too dangerous, don’t you see?”

Bloodshot eyes sought him out. “You don’t have to...”

“Stop, Will. For once, _please,_ let me take the lead.” He shifted, offering Will more room because there was a limit to how much he could push. He wondered then of what Will thought him capable of disclosing, the barriers he feared might be broken, the lashing he might have to endure, but all the bitterness in Jake’s heart had long since dissipated.

If there was one good thing to have come of the Mirror Queen, it was _this._

“There was always such weight upon you, Will, before mother passed. I don’t know how you did it, and then it was just the two of us and somehow it was harder. We were so young and I don’t even know half the ways you managed to put food on our table. I never wanted to insult you by asking, I couldn't stand to bring you anymore pain.”

A flicker of something dark passed across Will’s face, causing Jake to pause abruptly, but there were some revelations too fragile, he knew, and Will was nowhere near the state of mind to purge.

In time, perhaps, but Jake must cut himself open first.

He blundered on, speaking words he’d run over in his head dozens of times but were true nonetheless. “So when I left, I knew you would be better off without me. I hoped it would be easier for you and for me. We always had different dreams and different ways of going about them, but I lost sight of the most important thing we had: family. More than that, I _wanted_ to lose sight of it. I wanted my own life, outside of your shadow.” He reddened at the admission, but he hadn't finished yet.

“But it wasn’t a better life, I was lonely, all the time. I would bury myself in work because of it, but it never really helped. The truth is, I didn't know how to get through to you and because it was hard, I didn't think it was worthwhile.”

And there it was, the moment he found himself starting to crumble, pressing closer to Will without permission, seeking something he had no right to ask for. “Oh _god_ , Will, I’m sorry. I brought you so much pain. What have I done to you? What have I _done_ to us?”

He was nearly on the verge of hysteria, didn’t know what Will made of all of it, didn’t really know how he could go about telling Will how much he needed him, how much he’d _always_ needed him and raged against it and ran from it and resigned himself to it like it was the softest torture, but it wasn’t true, any of it, because he had been putting Will through the very same thing by not even _trying._ And then finally, he said it like a child, like a spoiled rotten child who nearly killed his brother several times over and was quite possibly killing him now.

“I need you, Will, I _need_ you. We have to get through these dark parts so that _we_ can have our happily ever after.” It was something Will had joked about shortly after Marbaden, but now Jake could hear those very words and see through to the desperate longing, the deep _pain_ of them.

“Sometimes...,” Will murmured. “Sometimes I wonder if there are any happy endings for our _sort._ ” He said that last word so bitterly, with so much contempt that Jake was shocked to absolute silence. He scarce moved, riveted to the spot as to what his brother would do or say next. “Everything we touch...,” his hand rose and then fell, as if invisible strings were cut, extinguishing all life.

And Jake knew where this was going and couldn’t let it get there. “No...,” he made Will look at him, hands gripping either sides of his face, clammy and yet his pulse thrumming, pulsing, _living_. There was such a feeling of longing fluttering inside Jake, longing for _peace_. “That’s not true. Not for us. We’re the Brothers Grimm, and we _make_ our own future.”

Will sighed, gaze shifting away from Jake’s intense one. “I once thought that was the case, but it seems there’s no luck left for us anymore.”

Jake’s throat felt raw, his words far too powerful to be anything but whispered. “How can you say that, when we still have each other? You beat her, Will. _We_ beat her. If there wasn’t some part of you that believed in us, you wouldn’t be here now. I _know_ that much, so _stop_ sulking and _start_ getting better.”

It was the flash of decision that shifted the tone, that lightened the room considerably. It was not in Jake’s heart to criticize or berate, but if Will was not responding yet to tenderness then he _would_ react to forcefulness, even if Jake’s heart wasn’t entirely in it.

“Alright, Jake,” Will answered, responding to the challenge Jake now regretted setting. He eased himself upright with a great deal of strain, surveying the other side of the room as if he feared he wouldn’t make even half the distance. Of course, he was taking his words more literally than Jake had intended. Firmly though gently, he shoved his brother back against the pillows, relieved to find Will grinning cheekily up at him. “Ah, so it's back to bed then? Make up your mind, will you, brother?”

“You know full-well what I meant, _brother._ ”

Hyper-aware he was still in his brother’s bed, or truly, the sole bed in the room, Jake tipped his head down in anticipation of the blush to soon follow and started backing out of it.

Will, on the other hand, had a more contrary idea. “Jacob?”

It worked the same on him as a hand to still him might, causing him to stop in place before he had made much effort whatsoever. “Hmm?” He innocently inquired, because he had no idea what it was that his brother wanted, but he knew also that it didn’t much matter. Whatever Will required, Jack was there to comply. Even if his heart would stutter at the words to leave him be, the dismissal of a hand wave, the feel of Will pulling away from him, shutting him out forcefully.

“Say I try, I _try_ to embrace this magic, what then?”

Jake laid a hand over his brother’s. “Then we confront it together, we wield it _together._ I feel that _this_ is what we were born to do, Will. Fate, God, whomever, kept us alive for some purpose. And after Marbaden, after all the... _hurt_ we have caused each other, I have to believe this is it. We are still here to bridge that gap, to rectify the dark magic and steer the good magic to those who need it most.”

“And if there is no good magic?”

Jake removed his hand, resting his forehead on his brother’s palm instead. He curled up tightly against Will’s side to hear his brother’s heartbeat, to know that it still beat for him. “Then we make our own. I won’t abandon you again, Will, to indecision, to spitefulness, to shame you. I will never put magic before you, no matter how badly I might want it. That has been my crux, and you have been my reminder of that. That is why I _need_ you so much, for the magic will tear me apart too.”

Will laid his head back against the pillows. “Promise me, promise me you will not forget these nights, the agony she had bestowed upon us. The consequences of her _magic_ ,” the last word was murmured, as if he was still afraid of the power it might hold over him.

Upon his dear, long suffering brother.

And Jake knew what he meant, how easily her magic had cracked open a rift between them. And how he had nearly let it alone at the cost of his brother’s life. All because he had been so eager, had been so _blind_. It was an easy promise to make; Will’s life was his most precious possession. “I promise. And you will promise me not to fear, not when you have me. As I will not fear when I have you by my side.”

Will’s whisper was a gentle beat of Jacob's heart. “I promise.”

Jake eagerly drank in the sight of his brother, the pale skin and thick blond hair, remembered how he could charm nearly anyone into doing nearly anything, the way he held himself and the almost graceful manner in which he moved. If he could only know that he had _finally_ become enough for Jacob, more than enough, far more than he deserved.

“Sleep, Will. There will be plenty of time to rewrite our wrongs tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Will breathed, as if this were the first moment he believed there would be one. Something warmed in Jake’s heart at that, knowing he need watch out for his brother no longer, that the fear was gone, for now.

He closed his eyes against the soft warmth of his brother’s hand, purred drowsily at a hand rifling through his hair, and at last slumbered.

* * *

Will was much more in his usual high spirits the days following. It was often all Jake could do to keep him in bed, for fear he would overexert himself. Even when they went on short walks around the bedroom, and at a short time thereafter, outside, Will seemed to always dread that languid crawl back into bed, as if he somehow feared he would not be able to rouse himself out of it again.

Yet he did, and every time it seemed he grew stronger.

He was growing past Jacob’s reach almost, trying to run before walking again, eager and daring and even well-rested. That was what quieted his misgivings, Will actually looking much like himself again: strong and vibrant and far too clever for him to keep up with.

Even still, one could not completely erase his concern, or rather, his exasperation.

“Will, slow _down…”_

Will was _slowly_ bustling about the room nearly as if his clothes were on fire. “I have been bedridden for far too many days, Jacob, so I _will not_. I do believe some fresh air and sun will do me a world of good, and far more than you’ve been allowing me to have. Not to mention, brother mine, but there is a spectre not two villages over, believed to have murdered a good many townsfolk. I do believe this is a case with Grimm written entirely over it. What are the odds that we’ll be the first to investigate if we leave before a full breakfast?”

Jake managed to hide his wild grin until his back was turned, all to do with his dear brother’s recovered enthusiasm. He bit down the fact that he had deliberately placed that paper on the bedside table, aptly curious as to how Will would feel about it. Maybe it was too soon to get back into this, especially when there might be real magic involved now; then again, maybe this was truly the only way to start again.

Jake had faith enough that this might work after all.


End file.
